Always a Choice
by TheRandomScribbler
Summary: As Aragorn lays dying, Elrond faces a choice.


_Always a Choice_

Elrond could save his daughter and doom the world. Even the Wise are not immune to the call of the heart, or the selfishness created by caring.

These characters and settings are not mine.

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><p>The young Ranger lay dying before his eyes.<p>

The son of his heart, if not of his body, lay still before him on a litter, drenched in his own blood and sweat. His eyes were shut but Elrond knew if they were open they would be bloodshot and swollen. Three badly bandaged fingers, broken at the knuckle, lay across his chest. The shaft of an arrow, broken hastily for better transport, still stuck out clumsily from his left shoulder. Already Elrond could see the flesh begin to meld around it. If it was not removed soon the pain of its removal would triple. Elrond's gaze swept further up the human and took in the long gash running from just above his right ear to all the way below his chin. It was a miracle his jugular vein had not been slit. Even in the dim light Elrond could see the young man's injuries were grave. Aragorn would die without immediate, expert medical attention. How fortunate it was that he lay before one who loved him like a son and who was better equipped than any in Middle-Earth to tend to his wounds. What good fortunate graced the Ranger that he should call father the one with best odds of treating him to full recovery.

And yet Elrond remained motionless.

He wished to deny that he knew why he did not move, why he stood passive, while the life drained literally from the body of one he had come to love. He insisted to himself that he was in shock. He had to clear his mind before beginning operations. An absent mind was nearly as dangerous as an unskilled physician, he told himself, and his full attention was required.

But in his heart he knew these reasons were false.

He did not move, not because he did not care for the man, but because the man would die anyway.

_Hurry!_ cried the urgent little voice within his head. _Estel shall die if you do nothing. He shall perish!_

_And so shall he perish if he is attended_, whispered the dark voice in his heart. _So shall Elessar pass from this place in the blink of an eye. And when that happens...then, Peredhel, you know what also shall happen._

_She will die._

Elrond drew a deep, shuddering breath.

"She loves him," he murmured, starting toward the human, but drawing to an abrupt halt as the second persuasion continued.

_She loves him - and do you not love her? Are you not her sire, with better knowledge than she of her best interests?_

"She is grown, nurtured with all the wisdom of the Lord and Lady in Lothlorien," Elrond argued. It was utter madness to hold a conversation with one's self, but at that moment he felt as though the human and elf within him were tangible beings at terrible odds with one another.

_And yet that wisdom was not enough to prevent the foolish call of her heart! Stay the madness. Allow the human to die._

Elrond went absolutely still. He stared into the helpless face of the Dunedan who trusted in the one he called father to save him. Implicit trust - and guilt overwhelmed Elrond at the thought of Aragorn's face if he could know the dark thoughts in the elf lord's heart.

"She will fade," he wept. "She shall not survive his passing."

Ashamed that he was considering the choice even to this point, Elrond collapsed beside the Ranger's makeshift bed.

"I shall have slain her," he moaned. "And denied her even the small happiness of a mortal life."

_Elves are made to endure. __**You**__ were made to endure. Have you not survived the loss of your father, mother, brother and king? So too shall Arwen survive, and yet live to see your silver queen on the shores of Valinour._

An anguished sob tore itself from Elrond's lips, and at once there was a commotion at the door.

"My lord," called the urgent voice of his blood son. "My lord, what troubles you? Has Estel - ?"

The doorknob rattled, and Elrond was grateful he had taken the odd step of locking it before. He drew a shaky breath.

"It is well, Elladan," he called with what strength he could muster. "Estel lives. Leave me in peace."

He thought he heard a distinct sigh of relief from the young warrior, and with an even deeper stab of guilt he thought of all the others whose suffering he would induce.

Beyond the door lay not only Elladan but his brother Elrohir as well, and Thranduil's young child Legolas, the Ranger Halbarad, and Glorfindel and many others of Elrond's court who had come to care for the human.

"To foresee such suffering and choose the path that causes it would be unforgivable," Elrond murmured helplessly.

_And yet_, whispered the darkness. _They too would survive. All are accustomed to loss and it is not a surprising thing for a human to die in battle. Indeed, they would recover and sing his praises in the Hall of Fire. It is an honor bestowed to few indeed._

"And what of the split kingdoms?" Elrond murmured. His fingers inched towards Aragorn's pulse, feeling it weak and erratic beneath his touch. Tentatively he reached to stem the flow of blood issuing forth from an unseen wound beneath the Ranger's tunic.

_What care you for them? Numenor's line is broken and faded. You have done Elros no disservice if you let this one die. That future is unlikely as it is. You yourself have said it._

"And if Sauron returns and enslaves the whole of the earth?" Elrond was pressing a damp cloth to the human's side, but not wholeheartedly nor in as efficient a manner as he might.

_You can leave. _

"I could not abandon -" Elrond began to protest.

_You can leave with Arwen._

The thought was enough to make him stop stemming the flow altogether. He pictured himself fleeing the Enemy, boarding the last ship in haste, Arwen and her brothers at his side. Celebrian rushing to meet them in Valinour, tears of joy and not sorrow flooding her face as the five embraced as a whole family. As they had not done in five hundred years and as they would not ever do if Arwen remained true to Aragorn. It was a vision he had lost hope for since her decision, and fresh pain sprang up instantly, seeming as physically present as the lacerations covering Aragorn's body.

As Elrond watched, fresh, dark blood began to spring up as the pressure was released. Soon, the one he called Estel would die.

It was time to choose.

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><p><strong>Intended to be a one-shot but will now be a three-chaptered mini-fic. Next two chapters will be alternate endings, one slightly more AU than the other. Reviews are appreciated.<strong>


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